


The Master of Death goes to Hogwarts

by vivi1138



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Good Slytherins, Good everyone, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts House Sorting, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Murder, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Reincarnation, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26361223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: Harry Potter, Master of Death, has had enough of eternal life. He bargains with Death and is reborn into his own body, ready to try again without that pesky immortality hanging over his head. The thing is, Death is bored to tears. Who knows what a powerful entity can do for their own entertainment.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Comments: 34
Kudos: 350
Collections: HP Crack!Fic Fest





	The Master of Death goes to Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this story was number G3 by goldenzingy46.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, [alwaysparis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysparis), and to the mods for organising this fest!

Harry James Potter, proud holder of an Apparition License since 1998, stared at the Hogwarts Express with barely concealed distaste. Initiation rite or not, it was complete _bollocks_. His magic was still too immature to risk Apparating, but Merlin, the idea of being stuck in a train for hours made him shudder. He waited until the last minute to climb onboard, Occlumency shields snapping into place and giving him the patience to deal with the unholy level of noise around him. He wasn’t used to this anymore. He wasn’t used to being _tiny_ either; he’d forgotten what being a child meant, how odd it’d be to look at the world from that height. He’d forgotten the names and faces of too many people—he remembered _knowing_ them, but couldn’t quite figure out who they were. Who could blame him, really? Harry had lived longer than any creature known to humankind, except, perhaps, that one species of jellyfish that keeps regenerating itself. It was a wonder he remembered his own name.

All right, his memory wasn’t that bad. He’d compartmentalised his mind to keep it from exploding over the centuries, and there was an entire cabinet labelled HJP: The Original, which contained the memory boxes he needed to navigate through his childhood all over again. Everything that was not in there had long been tossed aside. Too bad he hadn’t thought about keeping what, at the time, was obvious, like how does one function without magic, do bell peppers have teeth, or how do I tie my shoelaces.

He’d been a normal wizard who’d just happened to kill a Dark Lord. There were thousands like him throughout History; nothing to be proud of. He’d had a cushy job (he didn’t remember what it was!), hair greying at the temples, and a love of good food that, little by little, made him buy clothes a few sizes larger. And he’d dropped dead. Or so he’d thought. Death had greeted him, told him to take responsibility for being their Master, and sent him back to his body. Harry had been alive ever since.

He’d seen everything: war, famine, hatred, the decline of magic as the land died, the witch hunts of 2812, but also brilliant inventions, incredible discoveries, and solidarity beyond his wildest dreams. He’d raised children, adopting or fostering as many as he could. He’d visited multiple planets, lived many different lives under various fake names—farmer, teacher, wandcrafter, healer, he’d even commandeered his very own space fleet. At 5982 years old, Harry James Potter, an exhausted hermit living at Number 329-CX-00-B21, Wixen Street, somewhere in the Milky Way, had once more been visited by Death. He’d bargained, to be given some well-earned rest. And Death had agreed.

He’d been reborn on Earth, a planet that had been deemed unfit for life around the 26th century. His consciousness had awoken in his original body with the promise that he would, indeed, pass on peacefully in about one hundred years. But because a young child’s brain couldn’t process this information, he hadn’t been aware of who he was until his aunt hit him with a frying pan. What happened after that was mostly confusion. He couldn’t even remember how to speak English until he found the Extinct Languages box in his mind.

So, here he was, back on Earth, feeling the beginnings of magic’s struggle for survival beneath his feet, and having to suffer through his Hogwarts years (and puberty) all over again. Except, that was the point. He had no intention of letting anything happen the same way. Thank Morgana for his Teenage Trauma memory box (cute experiences, compared to what he’d been through later). He was there after all, so why not have some fun and enjoy himself? This started right now because his mind hosted a whole crate labelled Pointy Ferret and he _needed_ to speak to him.

Trudging through the train car, dragging his trunk with his annoyingly small arms, he asked Hedwig to find his former nemesis. Death seemed to have brought her back, because she’d caused a ruckus in the pet shop, escaping and finding Harry in Diagon Alley. She nipped at his ear to indicate where itty bitty Malfoy sat, and Harry knocked on the door. A kid similar in size to Dudley but with more strength opened it and narrowed his eyes. Harry couldn’t remember who he was, so he shrugged it off and grinned.

“Hi, I’m looking for Draco Malfoy.”

The kid grunted and stepped aside. And here he was. Malfoy’s nose and chin stood out because his cheeks were round with baby fat. His shiny hair formed a ridiculous helmet on his head, and he was in dire need of more sunlight.

“Who are you?” That drawl, with his childish voice, was hilarious, but Harry knew he shouldn’t laugh. Malfoy was such a prickly brat, and Harry had more than enough experience raising children just like him to understand how to approach him.

“I’m Harry Potter. I was hoping we’d meet sooner. May I join you?”

Okay, the pure joy in Draco’s eyes was worth it. “You were? You’ve heard of me?” He scooted close to the window and patted the seat. “Come, sit down. This is Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle, take his trunk.”

 _Crabbe and Goyle_. There was a story with Polyjuice there, wasn’t it? He’d have to look into it. He returned the smile and thanked Draco for the welcome, sitting beside him, then also offering his gratitude to Goyle. He then turned to face Draco, who was busy trying to see his scar and said, “I’ve heard of the lands your family owns, actually. I’m fascinated by living magic.”

“Oh, then you must visit! I’ll owl Mother. We have the most beautiful flowers, and at dusk and dawn, fairies gather at the edge of the pond. You’ll love the singing frogs! I’m so glad. Rumour has it, Muggles raised you, but I imagine it wasn’t true?”

 _Tread carefully_ , Harry’s inner voice murmured. “It’s true, but I couldn’t come to Hogwarts unprepared. Just because I wasn’t raised in our world, doesn’t mean I didn’t learn about it.” If only that had been true the first time around. Before Draco could voice his opinion on Muggles, Harry asked about the woods near the Manor, feigning interest in the creatures within. Best deflection tactic: get Draco to speak about himself.

He didn’t realise the train had started moving until the trolley lady passed by. Harry blinked in surprise, then bought a week’s worth of candy and chocolates, sharing them with the three future Slytherins. They were later joined by Nott, Zabini, Parkinson, Greengrass and Bulstrode, and the compartment expanded to accommodate them as they all played Exploding Snap. Harry made sure to write down their names in his head and add them to his new box, and he committed their smiles to memory. They were all spoiled children, already demonised by their parents’ past. In the 23rd century, Harry had been Slytherin’s Head of House for fifty years; they were his baby snakes. He didn’t remember enough of his interactions with the current aspiring snakes to hold anything against them. Except for Draco, but that one was a special case. They’d become close friends in their twenties. He’d mourned him as much as Ron, Hermione, Teddy—and every child and friend who came afterwards. Losing everyone was the absolute worst part of immortality. He’d go with them this time, though, and that thought brought a smile to his face.

In the afternoon, when Draco was in a food coma, Harry left the compartment and went looking for the loo. He was washing his hands when the door slid open, and someone spat out his name. Harry glanced at the mirror, gasped, and turned around. No way. That was just not fair!

“What the fuck?” he breathed out, staring.

Black wavy hair, aristocratic nose, sharp cheekbones already peeking beneath round cheeks, cold blue eyes—what was Death playing at?

“Yes, I’ve uttered those very same words quite a few times in this short existence. I must say I am delighted that you remember me, Harry Potter.”

“You look a lot better with a nose.” Harry’s hand twitched. He wouldn’t attack first, but just because Tom was eleven didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. “What are you doing here?”

“Going to Hogwarts.” He smirked when Harry rolled his eyes. “I have a chance to take over the wizarding world again without losing my good looks, and I’d be a fool to squander it.”

In the grand scheme of things, Voldemort wasn’t that terrifying. Harry had faced much worse. Tom looked healthy and pampered and wore Muggle clothing.

“Did you bargain with Death?” Harry asked, bewildered.

At the mention of their name, Death appeared in the crowded bathroom, startling them and earning equally annoyed glares. If Death had a face, Harry could bet they’d be grinning like a loon. Their voice echoed directly into Harry’s mind. “He did. You are both so amusing. No Horcruxes for this new Tommy, no insanity, no murderous rampage—that is my job, thank you very much.”

Harry huffed out loud. “But what’s the point?”

“You don’t think I deserve a second chance?”

“As it happens, no, I don’t, Riddle.”

“It’s Black.”

Harry’s hackles rose. “No, it’s not!”

“I assure you, if you were cursed with the name of a man who rejected you, you’d change it too.”

“You killed him. And you have no right to claim the Black name!”

Tom’s calm demeanour had been eerie and creepy in Dumbledore’s memories. Harry had to admit he hadn’t changed, and his icy smirk made him shudder. “Potter, you, of all people, should know that merely killing someone does not erase their wrongdoings. And in this body, I have not killed anyone. As it happens, my childhood, this time around, is quite satisfying.”

“My parents are still dead.”

“Had I not split my soul, they wouldn’t be. My wasted potential is a burden I have been forced to face once the veil of madness was lifted.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you,” Harry pointed out, ignoring Death’s chuckle in the background.

“Oh, come on Potter, you’re older than the pyramids, for Merlin’s sake. Death tells me you even forgot your name at some point!”

Glowering at the faceless cloaked being, Harry crossed his arms. “Why are you gossiping about me?”

Death chuckled. “You are both descended from the Peverells, and I gossip about the Brothers just as much. One must find some sort of entertainment. You know how dull eternity can be.” Before Harry could ask anything else, Death spoke again: “I see the cogs in your head. Yes, there’s currently an insane Voldemort on the back of Quirinus Quirrell’s head. Yes, his Horcruxes are still out there; yes, the one in your head is gone. And yes, Tom’s soul is whole, and he has a claim to the Black name since I placed his baby-self where dear old Marius Black would find him.”

Harry didn’t remember who that was, but since he’d fostered and adopted so many over the millennia, he found himself grateful that Tom didn’t spend his early years in misery and terror. It wouldn’t erase his first childhood, but it may curb his psychotic tendencies at least a little. By the time he opened his mouth to ask about other nasty surprises, Death was gone.

“Go back to mini-Malfoy before he feels abandoned,” Tom suggested—wise words, and it pained Harry to say so. “We’ll have seven years to torment each other. I can hardly wait.”

***

Hermione didn’t barge into Harry’s compartment, but Harry recognised her bushy hair as soon as he stepped off the train with Malfoy babbling excitedly in his ear. She was standing with Neville, who looked terrified, and Ron, who was moaning about his hunger. Harry had carefully unscrewed the lid on his memories of them, and he was eager to talk to them again. Their friendship wouldn’t be the same, of course, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t have any value.

Draco clung to his arm until the boats reached the pier. His trademark sneer and Lucius impersonation had ebbed away once he’d declared that Harry was now his best friend. In the Great Hall, Harry stared at the floating candles a little too long, then realised that Tom was doing the same thing, with an odd expression on his face—almost wistful.

Abbott, Hannah went to Hufflepuff, and Harry interrupted his quiet contemplation of his surroundings. He hadn’t seen the Great Hall in a very long time.

“Black, Thomas,” called McGonagall with a frown, and Harry snorted at Dumbledore’s expression when he set his eyes on the baby Dark Lord. Snape seemed taken aback too, but that may have been due to his last name. Quirrell, on the other hand, ignored it entirely.

“Oh!” Draco tightened his hold on Harry’s upper arm. “Mother is a Black! I wonder if he’s my cousin. Thomas is such a common name, though.”

“I met him on the train,” Harry explained, still gritting his teeth a little. “His father is Marius Black.”

“Oh, that would explain it. Marius is a Squib. I had no idea he was still alive; Circe, I have so many things to tell Mother! I didn’t think Squibs could have magical children.”

Harry refused to get into that conversation. Draco wouldn’t get over his prejudice that easily; his only chance was to learn, little by little, and Harry’s friendship would be his saving grace.

“Ravenclaw!”

Wait. What? Harry gaped as Tom’s tie turned blue. With a cheeky wave, Tom joined his new housemates, before Susan Bones sat beside Hannah.

There was no more surprise afterwards, though the Hat took longer to sort Draco this time. Harry ignored the whispers when his name was called.

“Mr Potter, you and Mr _Black_ should not be there. Any other reincarnated student in this crowd?”

 _Just Tom and I_ , Harry thought. _And my owl._

“And if you wear red and gold, your endeavour will fail.”

_Do you believe I’m still Gryffindor material?_

“No. You are too focused on making sure these children grow into good people. There’s no doubt in my mind. HUFFLEPUFF!”

***

Tom dropped his bag at his feet and sat beside Harry with a dramatic sigh, a dark lock falling into his right eye. “Dumbledore is the most annoying man on the entire planet!”

Understandably, the Headmaster kept a close eye on Tom. After all, the Philosopher’s Stone was hidden in the castle. “When are you planning to feed Quirrell to Aurora?” Harry asked, well-aware of Tom’s plans for his older self.

“As soon as she stops pouting and accepts my apologies for waking her for the second time in fifty years. She says she needs her beauty sleep and is still traumatised about Myrtle’s death.”

Harry could admit that he knew All The Things about snakes now (he’d owned a reptile sanctuary once) and that Basilisks weren’t killing machines. Aurora had trust issues after the incident. Harry hadn’t known that Myrtle’s death had been accidental and that Tom only opened the Chamber to learn about his heritage, and took good care of his ancestor’s pet. Aurora had been peeking out of the tunnel when Myrtle happened to look at her unlidded eyes. Not that Riddle had regretted the event back then. When young Harry had faced her, she’d followed the Horcruxes’ orders, convinced that Harry was a threat. Now Harry had talked to her, had met her gaze without turning to stone, and had even cleaned the Chamber so it’d be more welcoming. He and Tom had been meeting there almost every day because the only place where they could be themselves, act like adults and escape the noise of the school was below the castle. And Aurora liked Harry; Harry believed Tom was jealous. He was a possessive little shit.

“I don’t think you should do it.” Harry drained the murky water from the marble pools on each side of the Chamber and replaced it with a silent Aguamenti, clean and fresh. “Dumbledore will never leave you alone. He’ll take you down at the first misstep.”

“Well, what do you suggest, Golden Boy?”

“You sound like Malfoy.” Harry smiled as Tom clucked his tongue, disgust clear on his face. “I’m staying here for Christmas. I’ll do it. You go home and enjoy your presents.”

“What a joyful plan for the holidays.” Tom cast Tempus and poked Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll miss Transfiguration.”

Harry swore and ran out of the Chamber, flying up the tunnel on the Nimbus 2000 he’d smuggled into the school. He didn’t want to be the first Hufflepuff to lose House points this year.

***

Harry didn’t gain Hermione’s trust by saving her from a troll, because said-troll had been dragged into the Chamber and gobbled up by a hungry Basilisk before it could take more than a few steps out of the dungeons. The consensus amongst students and staff was that Professor Quirrell had pranked the school, earning Fred and George’s admiration for using such a convincing tactic. Harry didn’t team up with Ron on a daring rescue mission. He’d even kept his distances because now that he’d dived more into his teenage memories, it hurt to remember. It was more comfortable with Draco because they hadn’t been close at that age.

But despite the differences and Harry’s reluctance, a tentative friendship blossomed between him, Ron, Hermione, and also Neville. Without Harry by his side, Ron had become close to his roommate and hadn’t felt the need to be an arse to Hermione for months. Harry’s first attempt at friendship had been successful; he’d offered to help Neville and Hermione during flying lessons. Draco had then told him he was doing it wrong and proceeded to teach them since they were still struggling by the end of November. It somehow led to a heated debate about Quidditch, and Ron and Draco entered a tentative truce.

Harry also figured out why Voldemort (or Quirrell) didn’t seem to pay any attention to Tom: to Voldemort’s eyes, Tom didn’t exist. He was blind to any reference to him, and would never notice anything amiss. When Harry asked why Death didn’t just get rid of Voldemort, since it was so easy to manipulate him, Death had replied that it would be _boring_. Honestly.

Slowly, regardless of House affiliation or familial history, the first-years started to broaden their horizons: eating at another House table to be with a new friend, studying in the library in large groups, unofficial Quidditch teams (under heavy supervision). The only one who never joined the fun was Tom, but he didn’t sneer if Harry (often accompanied by Draco and at least two other children) decided to join the Ravenclaws for dinner.

House unity spread to the second and third-years next. Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Hogwarts created several common areas all over the castle where friends could meet. Study rooms, common rooms decorated in a horrifying array of mismatched House colours—Dumbledore’s eyes didn’t stop twinkling for a whole week after this happened. Tom, however, kept brooding, which meant he was planning something. Harry decided not to worry too much about it. Death would smite the tiny Dark Lord if he did anything resembling his old self.

When Christmas came, Harry discovered, delighted, a Weasley sweater at the foot of his bed. He put it on with a grin, alone in the Hufflepuff dorms, then unwrapped the rest of his presents. Tom had sent a letter. Reading between the lines, it seemed to convey a strained form of gratitude for Harry’s early gift. He’d told Tom that Squibs had just enough magic in them to use runes. If Tom had told his adoptive father, that information likely brought joy to an old man’s heart. From Draco, Harry received a diary (which reminded him that an invitation to Malfoy Manor would soon be required if he didn’t want Ginny to be possessed again). It wasn’t just any diary, as he found out when he read the first page; it was his mum’s pregnancy diary. It came with a letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_The Manor’s grounds are beautiful when it snows. I wish you could be here to help me build my army of snow-elves, but at least Dobby doesn’t mind assisting me in my task. He’s quite enthusiastic. There are now 412 snow-elves marching towards the house. Mother says it looks like the Manor is under siege, and I have attached a photograph to show you what you are missing._

_I understand why you asked me to be kind to my elves (not the snow-elves, of course). Father disapproved, but I know how to get my way. I pleaded, and he promised to treat them better. Since then, Dobby worships me. It’s quite unsettling, really._

_Your present is something Mother bought from Borgin and Burkes quite a few years ago. She said no one should have sold something so private, and that you should have it. I believe she was keeping it in the hopes we’d be friends._

The letter went on and on about Mother, Father, the elves, the snow, Yule traditions and familial drama at the dinner table because Grandfather Abraxas disapproved of Draco’s hair and lack of decorum. Pride welled up in Harry’s chest. He’d thought the child would go back to his habits once out of school, but instead, it seemed like he was no longer worshipping his father so much. And Harry had to admit the diary was one of the most thoughtful gifts he’d ever received in five millennia. Not that he remembered them all.

He still received his Invisibility Cloak and his parents’ photo album, however, he must’ve gotten more presents than Dudley this time around. It warmed his heart to know that so many students liked him for who he was. He even received a pair of gloves from Theo Nott, and he’d spoken to him maybe twice in total. Sending out gifts to every first-year in the school regardless of who they were had been a fantastic idea. He’d have felt terrible if he’d forgotten someone.

He spent the entire morning writing letters to thank his friends, then joined the Weasleys in the Great Hall for lunch. They were huddled at the end of the Gryffindor table with two Ravenclaws and a fourth-year Slytherin who spoke with Percy in hushed tones. Harry didn’t talk much; he listened to the twins, wondering why they weren’t wearing green and silver, and ignoring their pleas to be shown the way to the Hufflepuff common room. After the meal, he played chess with Ron and tried not to laugh at Snape, who wore a Santa hat and looked like he’d been forced to eat a whole lemon. Quirrell’s absence reminded Harry of The Masterplan.

“I have to go. Ron, meet me on the Quidditch pitch later.”

“Huh? Why?”

Harry smirked. “I want to fly. I’ll lend you my broom.”

Blue eyes lit up. “Sweet!”

If Harry thought Ron would accept it, he’d buy him a broom. But it would hurt his pride. Being generous with him had never been easy, and Harry wondered how Molly and Arthur would feel about his anonymous donation in their small Gringotts vault. Goblin magic had detected Harry’s true age, giving him access to his familial vault and the riches within, still growing thanks to Sleekeazy and some well-placed investments. He had more money than he’d ever need; just like in his previous life, he wanted to share it. He’d secretly paid the school fees of more than one Hogwarts student so far. But beneath that benevolence, Harry hid the ruthlessness that came with fighting too many wars, and he knew when to dig into that part of himself. As he climbed up the stairs, he focused on that darker side; he couldn’t get distracted. Acting in the middle of the day would be the least suspicious way to deal with Quirrell.

Hidden under his cloak, Harry cast a series of Auror-grade spells to conceal his magical signature and avoid detection. When he found Quirrell, a variant of the Imperius Curse and a Confundus Charm on both the front and back of the teacher’s head worked wonders: Voldemort’s power was no match for the Master of Death. He wouldn’t even realise what was happening until his wraith sought a new host. To ensure his success, Harry followed him and watched as Aurora Petrified him, complaining about the horrible scent of decay camouflaged by garlic.

“ _I am not eating thisss_ ,” she hissed, and Harry nodded.

“ _I underssstand. I’m sssorry; I didn’t realise he was no longer edible._ _Evanesssco_.” The statue that had once been a man vanished. “ _If you’re able to get out during the night, there’s a nessst of Acromantulasss in the foressst._ ”

Aurora perked up and bobbed her head. Cute.

***

On the first day of term, Harry discovered a picture of Sirius Black on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He hadn’t forgotten about his godfather; in fact, he’d hoped he could get him out years ago. Unfortunately, he’d been a small child unable to perform much magic outside of school, and it wasn’t like the Ministry would listen to him. He’d considered talking to the press, but Death advised against it, citing unsavoury results and an early demise for Sirius. Instead, Death had offered to keep Sirius in stasis. He wouldn’t be aware of the cold, the dark, the hunger, or the Dementors. He’d just sleep until the time was right. As it turned out, being friends with Draco meant shifting the Malfoys’ loyalties. Lucius must’ve bribed a few people. Sirius would hate to know who had gotten him out and according to the article, he was busy freaking out in St Mungo’s.

Harry was frustrated about his inability to help Sirius himself.

“Rejoice, Saviour.” Tom buttered a piece of toast. “He’ll be just fine.”

“Physically, maybe, but I still need to see him.” Hearing footsteps behind him, Harry turned around and smiled at Draco. “Hi, thanks again for the diary.”

“I have a message from Mother,” Draco announced, puffing up his chest. “She’s taking us to St Mungo’s tonight. You too, Black. You’re family, after all.”

Tom hid a sneer in his teacup, and Harry snickered, then poked the Dark Lord’s arm. “Is Tommy disappointed? Is Tommy angwy?”

“You sound like Bellatrix.”

“How do you know what my insane aunt sounds like?” Draco asked, puzzled.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t laugh at Tom’s expression—an uncanny deer-in-headlights impression. Luckily, Draco had the attention span of a fruit fly and was dragged into a conversation about Diggory’s new broom. Many were still wary of Slytherin students, but Cedric wasn’t one of them and sometimes invited the mini-Malfoy to sit with him. They followed the same Quidditch team and had _opinions_. Harry’s passion for Quidditch had fizzled out quickly in his first life; his memory box contained the delight of flying, the thrill of chasing the Snitch and the awe of watching various Quidditch events without the shadow of Voldemort behind him. However, as he’d grown older, he’d found he liked the act of flying more than the game. Over the next five millennia, he’d had several occasions to test this theory, and had ended up forgetting what Quidditch was entirely. Piloting a spaceship through an asteroid field would always outrank flying in circles on a pitch. Too bad he wouldn’t get to experience that this time around. It didn’t mean he disliked his broom; far from it. It’d been his first purchase upon gaining access to his vault. But still, it just didn’t feel the same.

Draco, Harry and Tom joined Narcissa in Dumbledore’s office after the cancellation of their Defence class. The Headmaster’s benevolence didn’t extend to Tom, and the lack of twinkling when he set his eyes on him was evident to everyone. Harry couldn’t blame him. Dumbledore also didn’t trust the Malfoys, but still offered Draco a sincere smile.

To Harry’s surprise, Kingsley Shacklebolt and _Remus Lupin_ stood by Narcissa’s side. He blinked at the sight of the werewolf, wanting to tell him how amazing his future son would be, how grateful Harry had been to have him in his life—but he controlled himself and smiled politely. Then he played the part of the starstruck orphan who happened to remember his Unca Mooey, and Remus almost cried. Well, at least he got a nice hug out of it. Tom, on the other hand, was introduced to Draco’s mother.

They all left for St Mungo’s. Without Hogwarts to protect him, Harry felt the strain on his magic. He was too powerful for his age; his core was confused. Tom didn’t show it, but his inner turmoil must’ve been similar. It didn’t matter, though: Harry was finally going to see his godfather.

He almost barrelled into the room. Narcissa’s grip on his shoulder grounded him, but not for long. When the door opened, he spotted Sirius, sat up in bed, and his throat tightened. He looked great; much better than the hermit-escapee Harry had once known. Bright grey eyes filled with tears, and the next thing Harry knew, they were both sprawled on the floor, weeping in each other’s arms. Stupid time travel, stupid memory boxes, stupid _everything_. Harry hadn’t cried like this in a very long time.

***

Slytherin won the first Quidditch match of 1992, to Draco’s immense pleasure, and Remus became the Defence teacher. The search for Quirrell had the Auror department in a frenzy after they’d discovered Dark artefacts in his home. Harry wondered where Vanished objects went. Hopefully not in the Room of Requirement, or someone would eventually find a Petrified teacher in there.

Between January and April, Sirius healed enough to leave St Mungo’s and fight the Dursleys for guardianship—Harry didn’t know what his godfather had expected, because there was no fight at all. If possible, Petunia and Vernon hated their nephew more in this life, because after the frying pan episode, Harry had suddenly chosen to scare them until they didn’t dare order him around. Even without much magic at his disposal, he knew a few tricks. Dudley thought they were brilliant, and the bullying stopped. Wonders would never cease.

Once Harry was officially allowed to live with Sirius, he didn’t stop smiling for days. Draco, ecstatic, had announced that they’d be neighbours. Sirius had indeed found a property in Wiltshire—with a Quidditch pitch, to Ron’s delight. Even Tom managed to grin a few times, though he controlled his expression if caught.

Just before the Easter holidays, Harry got detention by experimenting with the wrong ingredients in Potions. He’d thought it was funny. Snape didn’t enjoy the results.

The holidays were quiet. Harry told Sirius that he needed some peace, far from the excitement of Hogwarts, and Sirius agreed. They still visited the Burrow once a week, where Harry did his best to smother Ginny’s hero-worship, and they had to sit through several dinners with the Malfoys (Harry stole the diary). Sirius spent a few mornings with his great-uncle Marius, which meant that Tom and Harry were stuck together as well. They sneaked into the woods bordering the property and gathered potion ingredients to keep themselves busy.

The most memorable dinner happened on the last day before they returned to Hogwarts, and involved every relative who still lived and didn’t hope to incinerate Sirius and Harry on the spot. An awkward affair, hosted at Malfoy Manor, worsened by the presence of Andromeda, Ted and Nymphadora. Draco, who had never met them, was entranced by his cousin’s metamorph magic. And because Draco had his parents wrapped around his little finger, they decided to be more welcoming. It would take some work before Andromeda stopped glaring daggers at Lucius, or before Arcturus stopped sneering. Cassiopeia was fascinated by Tom and had quickly congratulated her brother on raising his son properly. She kept pinching Tom’s cheeks and kissing his forehead, cooing and telling him to eat more, and Harry kept his Occlumency shields up. He didn’t need to stir Tom’s ire by cackling madly.

When they left, Tom, Marius and Sirius all said, “Let’s never do that again.”

***

Aurora destroyed the diary and the diadem and acted smug about it for days. Remus survived the curse on the Defence position because he was already cursed, so Harry could look forward to a Second Year without Lockhart. Before taking the Hogwarts Express, Harry left the Philosopher’s Stone on Dumbledore’s desk with an anonymous letter, then walked with his friends to the train station in Hogsmeade.

That summer, Sirius took him to Disney World and spoiled him rotten. Back home, Harry used the ingredients gathered in the forest with Tom to brew a lycanthropy cure and almost Imperiused Remus so he’d take it.

Little by little, Sirius learned the truth about him. It was easier.

They dealt with the remaining Horcruxes before Harry’s Hogwarts letter came, and Sirius commissioned an artist to update a portrait of his brother that had been in the attic of Grimmauld Place. He also sent Kreacher to work for the Malfoys in exchange for Dobby. Harry chose to keep the truth about Tom to himself. Sirius might kill him.

If First Year still had common themes with Harry’s first life, Second Year didn’t. Harry thought he’d be free of Lockhart, only to find out he’d started dating Sirius. Horrified, Harry asked for Tom’s help and exposed the fraudster to the wizarding world. Lockhart fled the country.

Harry declined a position on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team; Tom and Draco didn’t. Ravenclaw now had a Dark Lord posing as a Beater (with a wicked aim), and Slytherin had a great Seeker who still bought his way onto the team. Well, Lucius did that, but he was outsmarted by Sirius and Narcissa, who bought brooms for Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw on the same day. Nobody sneered at Draco, and the fragile peace between the Houses was maintained. Lucius: 0, everyone: 1.

Second Year also brought Luna Lovegood, and there was no hiding from a Seer like her. Tom took her under his wing. She understood the need for secrecy and didn’t mention anything, but she sometimes joined them in the Chamber of Secrets.

With the Horcruxes gone, the wraith of Voldemort wouldn’t be able to be revived. It’d ultimately vanish into thin air, unable to possess anyone or anything, and the Second Wizarding War would never happen.

Harry’s Hogwarts years continued without any looming threat—aside from acne—and he thought nothing could surprise him anymore. Well, it turned out he was wrong. Only one person understood what he’d been through; it was natural that he and Tom would be attached at the hip. But moving in together was not part of the plan.

As soon as they passed their NEWTs, they set their sights on one of the smaller Black properties, isolated in Northern Scotland. They took Aurora with them. The _Prophet_ ran scandalous stories about Harry eloping with his childhood sweetheart, sharing speculations in numerous articles, and Tom hated each and every one of them. Sirius and Marius Floo called them every time they made the front page, and Ron kept each article in a blackmail folder _just in case_. The very notion of dating Tom was ludicrous—not that Harry would say no. Tom’s beauty was, after all, otherworldly. But the man had no interest in sex and didn’t do romantic love. He didn’t do platonic love at all, either. Well, perhaps he’d shed a tear if Aurora died, but Harry doubted it.

Harry let his hair and beard grow. He couldn’t stand the sight of his youthful face when he’d been so used to grey hair; he felt a lot more comfortable looking like a middle-aged man. At least he wasn’t tiny anymore. When his friends launched their careers, he took a step back. Tom tried going into politics, despised it, and ended up joining Harry in his early retirement (well, early to those who thought he was in his twenties). When Tom got bored, he took a quill and wrote.

He took over the world, wizarding and Muggle, by becoming a famous horror novelist, so reclusive none of his fans knew what he looked like.

To Harry, the scratch of the quill on parchment rhymed with home (he’d tried introducing Tom to computers and failed, which might have been a blessing in disguise. Who knew what Tom would buy if he ever found out about the dark web). Harry was grateful for the company, as acerbic as it could be. It was a constant when the outside world changed too much and bothered him. He kept hoping he’d see Teddy again, but it never happened—not in the same way. Remus and Tonks didn’t fall for each other. Instead, Harry became godfather to Scorpius Malfoy and sobbed his heart out when the baby was placed into his arms.

By the time he was forty, he’d made a List of the Unexpected, with two columns: one for current couples, another for those who’d dated in Harry’s first life. It always sent Sirius into fits of laughter at the thought of some of these people having been married.

At the top of the list was a congratulatory note to Draco and Astoria, who’d managed to replicate everything up to Scorpius’ first word. After that, it was a mess. Hermione Granger-Krum; Ron and Padma; Cedric, Katie and Charlie; Cho and Neville; Luna and Ginny; Greg and Susan; _Dudley_ and Lavender. Then there was Sirius himself, who’d dared to date Lockhart, then Gwenog Jones, Kingsley, and so many more before finally settling on his first love, who turned out to be Remus freaking Lupin. Who still taught Defence so many years later.

Harry eventually decided to adopt a kid; it had been a few centuries since he’d done that. Tom didn’t care what Harry brought into their home as long as it wasn’t shedding fur all over the floor, so he didn’t bat an eyelash when it happened. Harry’s visit at the wizarding orphanage (built by Dumbledore, who was still alive and kicking) was short: he found a small boy who toddled around the room with a bright smile, face scarred, eyes unseeing, and he couldn’t leave without him.

The following morning, in the _Prophet_ , an article described Tom and Harry’s marital bliss with their progeny. Sirius laughed so hard he cried. Draco and Ron showed up to their house with the newspaper and forced them to frame it. Then, a bunch of journalists invaded their privacy and put little Jamie in danger, and Tom showed that he was still a Dark Lord, no matter what Death said.

The offices of the _Daily Prophet_ burned to the ground. In the garden stood several Petrified nosy witches and wizards (and a beetle), a grim reminder of what happens when one tempts fate. And to avoid prosecution, Harry cut off their little part of Scotland from the map, with wards that would only be invented in a thousand years. They acted like a mass Obliviate; the whole world but their friends and families forgot that Harry James Potter and Thomas Salazar Black still lived.

Jamie Edward Potter grew up riding a Basilisk around the grounds of their home.

Harry had to admit Death had been quite fair.

**Author's Note:**

> **This work is part of the ongoing HP Crack!Fic Fest 2020.**
> 
> Please feel free to leave kudos/comments for the author here, or on our communities at [LJ](https://hpcrackficfest.livejournal.com/)/[DW](https://hpcrackficfest.dreamwidth.org/)/[Tumblr](https://hpcrackficfest.tumblr.com/).


End file.
